ABIGAIL NORTON

IN DEFENSE OF TOMORROW

September, 2018

In defense of the barista

At your hometown’s (only) coffee shop

Who smiles when you walk in

You’ve been at college for a while

So has she.

In defense of bike trails on Sunday mornings

The chill may warrant a sweater

But tomorrow the sun will be shining

As it glints off the smiles of those who pass you.

In defense of your preteen sister who made the honor roll

She hangs the local newspaper in her room

Waiting for a grin of approval to cross your face

She shouts for you to come look

And so you do.

In defense of You,

A friendly regular during rushes

A kind stranger who passes by on the river trail

They must like to watch the sun rise, too

A sibling, a roommate, a student, a child

In defense of tomorrow

And the people who will meet you

(Or want to)

RED (AND WHITE, AND BLUE) FLAG

September, 2016

Going to the mall with mom.

Shopping. A girl’s day.

Approach an intersection.

Slow, creeping.

Red light.

Two lanes.

Next to us, a woman. A veil.

“There’s ISIS,”

Mom whispers.

Mom.

Driving again.

This time, with my best friend.

And her brother.

I’ve known him since he learned to write his name.

Nice guy. Decent grades. Real family man.

She gets out of the car. She’s buying gas.

Outside, a turban. A man wearing it.

“I should shoot that towel-head,”

Brother whispers.

Is someone going to tell them?

It’s not just red-faced politicians

Or wife-beaters in wifebeaters.

It’s cheerful grandpa-types in coffee shops,

Your friend in the mall wondering how the woman in head-to-toe black isn’t

Sweating her ass off.

It’s choruses of “I’m not racist, but…”

It’s your mom. It’s somebody’s brother.

It’s the bruise of hate

From flying hands

Of people that learned to breathe it

Before they learned to spell it.

RETRACING MY STEPS

June, 2016

I have been here before
I have not been here alone

before

today

Here, laughter bounces off of statues to hit paintings

to land clumsily

before the stern eyes of museum security guards

But hey, if they’d heard what you’d whispered in my ear

breath tickling the back of my neck

they’d be laughing too

Restaurants don’t leave a pit in your stomach

when the only person staring at a screen is you

and it’s because you’re reading from your Kindle until the food comes

Waffles taste differently when you can eat them without nodding thoughtfully at a tale of a woman you’ll never be

They’re warmer

(I’m warmer, now, too)

And they’re a lot cheaper when the only bill you pay is your own

Formal dances feel less like anchors when your date-that-is-not-a-date

Isn’t there to check their watch

Instead of a death sentence mumbled in your ear

(“This is horrible”)

You hear pop music
It’s not good, but it’s light

Music is louder when the only voice in your car is the one spilling from your throat

You might blow your speakers

It’s not a good voice, but God, it’s yours

In spite of everything, you still have one

GETTING OLD

May, 2016

When we are born, everything is new

That’s why we start crying. It’s because we’re scared

We fall into our mothers

We cling onto blankets because they’re what we know

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When we’re a little bit older, we learn how to leave

The training wheels come off

Mothers watch from front steps as a bus takes us away

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Then, routine

We know what to expect, even when we don’t

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For me, this was a comfort

You can grow upward without ever moving your feet

Flowers do it all the time

But some people move more like wishing dandelions

You know, the ones you blow out like candles

As you beg for something in your head

Only to watch them fall apart

But those parts of you have to go somewhere

They fly away from you

In search of something, somewhere, someone new

And you probably won’t find them again

I don’t know where my wish went

But maybe it’ll still come true

I’m only 17

But I feel like I am getting old

To you